


Only-Protector

by Davechicken



Series: Kylux - Dom Hux, sub Kylo [5]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: BDSM, Bottom!kylo, Edgeplay, Entirely consensual, Humiliation, M/M, Name-Calling, Punishment, S&M, Top!hux, dom!hux, sub!Kylo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-31
Updated: 2016-08-31
Packaged: 2018-08-12 07:04:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7925245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux wanted a name that only Kylo would use for him, and Kylo found one in the Old Tongue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only-Protector

There ought to be a law about these kinds of things. Like, a galactic one. An all-powerful, over-arching regulation to which the whole of sentient life must bow. Hux _likes_ orders, rules, regulations, codes, ordinances. And just because he _is_ the authority who could pass, revoke, waive or uphold them, that doesn’t mean Kylo shouldn’t sue for it. (When your other half rules the galaxy, and you helped put him there, you don’t _really_ get to quibble about the lack of an appeals process or mediation service.)

Quite how he’d word this law, though, he doesn’t know. Whatever verbal trickery, or jargonised clauses he’d put down, Hux would find some way to annotate it, or interpret it in his favour.

Writing sloppily on a tablet: ‘Hux is not allowed to leave Kylo bored – The Law’ is probably not going to cut it. 

Kylo does it anyway.

He even puts it on the official request form. It took some digging out, because when Hux found out he was abusing the system to request things like ‘Mandatory Singing Lessons for People Who Sing In The Shower Even If They Think They’re In Key’ and ‘Make All The Doors On The Ships Higher’ and ‘Lube Dispensers’ and ‘More Blue Jello’, Hux had removed most of the copies from the network shares, and deleted all Kylo’s documents, _and_ wiped the backups.

Mitaka is great for hoarding, though. Mitaka is afraid of Hux. Mitaka is afraid of Kylo. Mitaka is aware that he is regularly used as an unwilling conduit for marital spats, and normally caves to whoever is in front of him at _that moment_ , because he’s yet to work out which of them is more dangerous.

The answer, of course, is that they’re both ridiculously dangerous. But Kylo is sure he’s the best. Or worst. Whatever.

He pushes submit, and then he walks up to Hux (who is sitting, half-reclined, on the couch) to shove his own tablet in front of him. With the sent items on the screen, and a smile on his face.

“Ren. You are aware what boredom is?”

Kylo has been told what boredom is many a time. Kylo is not dumb, and he does, in fact, remember things reasonably well. (Except when he’s very upset and it’s lucky if he remembers gravity is a thing that applies to him.) 

“I’m still bored.”

“Boredom is a sign of moral weakness. It is indicative of a flawed mind.”

“It means you’re not paying me enough attention.”

Kylo flops onto Hux’s lap, then, like a stage curtain being dropped. He falls with his head resting on his crotch, limbs and torso down over the couch, and blows the stray hair stands from his eyes. He holds the tablet back up in front of Hux’s, so he has to look. When Hux tries to push it down, he resists.

He’s trying his luck. But he _is_ bored. Hux hasn’t looked at him for more than five seconds in three hours, and Kylo’s not in the mood to train, and there’s nothing interesting to read or watch, and Hux is more interesting than anything else (ever).

Also, he’s vaguely horny. So there’s that.

“Acting like a child will not get you what you want.”

“What will?” he wheedles, dropping his tablet down onto his chest so he can better use his long lashes and full lower lip. 

“You can start by cleaning my boots.” Hux wiggles his foot. “And not by using the Force. It will give me time to finish my report, and if you do a good job, I will reward you.”

Hmm. It’s not the immediate gratification he’s angling for, but it will do, he guesses. Plus, he can do it and still ~~act like a little shit~~ add his own flair. Kylo doesn’t actually want Hux to be _angry_ with him, just… minorly exasperated? Enough that he’ll chide and push him back into line, but not so mad he’s literally punished and not in the enjoyable way.

(Hux is… fair. Kylo has to give him that. He never punishes him needlessly, or takes his own anger out on him, but Kylo would still rather not be so far in the wrong that it’s the only thing left for the night.)

The Knight steals a kiss (or gives it, rather) to Hux’s inner wrist, then slips from the couch to grab the boot black, rag and brush. He’s done this duty before, and he brings over a cleaner oilskin rag to put below Hux’s feet.

His Emperor turns to sit more correctly, and Kylo sits cross-legged on the floor, resting the heel of his boot on the rag on his folded legs for support. 

The smell of bootblack is rich and masculine, and so perfectly _Hux_ that he normally ends up half-hard every time he opens the tin. Certain scents are like a trigger point, spiralling his lust off on a gravity-defying trajectory. His thumb slides into the semi-solid darkness, sending stress-fractures through the matter as a sliver cuts free and sits balanced on his rag-clad thumb. Kylo pushes Hux’s laces up and into his boot, then starts (as is always the way) back at the heel before working up to the top of the leather. He can feel the flex of tendons below, and the soft, nearly-inaudible note of pleasure from Hux. 

It was a good plan, then. Kylo gets to touch him without it being disrespectful, gets something to focus on, and Hux gets to take pleasure from it and continue working. Okay. Win:win. 

Kylo can feel the flow of blood, the clench of muscle under his grip. He makes sure to chase any knots of tension, even through the boot, as he lets the polish seep into the cracks and pores of the fine nerf-hide. Down, down, and over the sensitive part of the instep (careful not to tickle or hurt), over the arch, down to the toes and the oh-so-shiny caps. It’s stiffer, there, so he can’t give the same amount of tactile pleasure… but he knows Hux loves his boots to reflect infinity, so he puts extra care into making his whorls and loops even and deep.

That done, he gently puts the foot back down and goes on to the second. It’s always best to let the leather drink in the polish, it comes up better when he does. Patience, for once. 

The Knight steals a glance up to check that Hux is still impressed with his attention to detail, and the faintest curve of an approving and encouraging smile is there for him to see. That’s worth all the effort he could possibly put in, and if anything, he works harder on the second boot. His fingers chase the feel of his foot below, and then he grabs the brush to buff them spick and span.

By the time he’s done, he’s got smudgy fingers (and, although he doesn’t know it, a smudgy face from transference), but Hux’s boots look almost as good as if he’d done them himself. Kylo would swear that Hux must use the blood of his enemies, or some other secret ingredient, because there’s absolutely nothing more he can do to get them any brighter. He looks up for approval, and Hux puts down the tablet (Kylo’s stomach skips) and leans to look down (and his breathing stops). 

A cluck of his tongue. “That’ll do, Ren.”

Kylo shouldn’t let that small praise hit him so hard, but it does. Hux is a difficult man to impress, and he _was_ being a bit of an ass before, so this is good. “Are you still busy?”

“I think I’ll reward you for your good behaviour. But only if it continues. Understand me, boy?”

Kylo nods. “Yes, _Taralkun_.” The honorific slips out automatically, the old Sith word for Only-Protector. 

Hux had wanted something different, something that would dignify his position. Kylo was fine with ‘Sir’, or ‘Master’ or ‘Your Imperial Excellency’, but Hux… had asked so sweetly for something only Kylo would call him, and Kylo had gone back to the old tongue to look for something suitably reverent, something that encompassed how he felt about him.

 _Taralkun_. None but he would use the term, and likely none but they would even know what it meant, now. The language of an Order that died even before the Knights of Ren were born. 

“Good.” 

Hux cocks his head to the side, a tiny gesture that implies much more. Kylo is well trained, and he immediately scrambles to his hands and knees. Hux likes him to stay low when they’re going to play, only allowed to touch or to stand up when given express permission to. He takes hold of the heavy rope, biting down on it, and crawls backwards to Hux to place the crate of things by him.

“Kneel for me. Undress your top half. Do not go fast.”

Kylo folds his legs under him, crossed at the ankle, and rises gracefully up. Hux has long since forbidden his mask in everything but combat or interrogation scenarios, but his Knightly garb is much the same (if a little more ornate). He finds the edge of his tunic, lifting it up and over his head, making a display of his chest as he does so. Underneath are the elasticated suspenders over his shoulders, and he shimmies them off and down to fall to either side. Another check to see Hux is still enjoying the floorshow, then he whips off the light undershirt, too. 

“Better.”

Still not ‘good’. He can work with ‘better’. Kylo puts his wrists submissively on his knees, palm-up, and dips his head to wait for more instruction.

“Don’t you have something to say to me?”

He can’t help the whip-up of his head, the frown before he remembers he’s supposed to be a _good_ boy, and good boys don’t scowl at their protectors. “…sorry?”

“Yes, but I don’t think you understand, do you?”

Hux wants him to actually apologise? “I don’t know what I’m supposed to be sorry for, _Taralkun_.” 

“That’s the _problem_.”

Shit. Fuck. What? Has he forgotten some protocol? Been disrespectful? Oh… the boot black is still out. Is that it? He scrambles to grab it, and then yelps in horror as a foot comes down on his fingers. There’s no real weight behind it, but there _could be_. He could put his mass behind it and crush the delicate bones, and all Kylo can do is stay still until he’s allowed to move.

“Did I give you permission to move?”

“No, _Taralkun_. I am sorry.” He is, and now he’s out of his depth. (That’s the point, he knows. And it’s what he needs, and what Hux needs. It does not _lessen_ the impact.)

“You will tidy up, now, and then you will strip down. Because you’ve been a very naughty boy, I’m afraid you’re going in your cage.”

Fuck. **Fuck.** Kylo _hates that_. But it’s his fault for whatever he did, and he nods, and waits until the foot moves and allows him to grab the things and take them back to their home. He puts them away with shaking hands, then cowers and cringes his way back, sinking low onto his shins and his forearms, all but prostrate in apology.

He didn’t mean to make Hux mad at him. He somehow always manages it, all the same. “I’m s—”

“Speak when you’re spoken to. I told you, you’re going in your cage. So why are you hiding your little bitch cock from me?”

Kylo’s cock is not ‘little’, but the bitch part is correct. He rolls over onto his back, showing his belly, crossing his hands above his head first to show he’s being obedient. Then he unfastens his belt and slides the remainder of his clothing towards his knees. He gets half-way to his ankles before Hux rises.

Hux grabs the gusset, between his legs, and _yanks_ things clean off. Kylo yelps in shock and holds himself still as he’s stripped. The boots are pulled off next, and Hux tosses them to one side. 

The Knight keeps his hands above his head, then, wrists crossed and head turned to one side. His cheeks burn red hot with shame at the exposure, but his dick steals the rest of the blood and starts to flush hard.

He’s not supposed to get hard, if he’s getting in the cage. The boot goes down there, next, landing on his groin and Kylo _screams_. It’s not a damaging trample, but it’s enough that he’s panicked, and it’s making him stiffen harder. He wants to beg for mercy, but begging gets him _worse_ , so he bites his lip and pushes out through his ears as if he’s trying to clear them to distract himself.

“You’re such a slut,” Hux croons, oh-so-lovingly. “Aren’t you? My little bitch slut.”

“Yes, I am.”

Boot moves. Hand slaps. The shock of it is so much that it interrupts, and Kylo almost swallows his throat in surprise at the harshness of it. It’s a throbbing, stinging mess when he’s taken in hand, and the chastity cage is guided into place.

Hux has lubed the sound, but it’s still difficult to relax and allow it to slide into his piss-slit. He plants his heels as hard as he can, grabbing his own hair in an effort to stay still. He knows Hux won’t injure him, but he’ll not mind discomfort or even a little pain. The stiller and calmer he is, the better. It slides deeper into his urethra, and the rings around his cock wrap him in tight, metallic hell. The final one is closed on the hinge under his balls, and then locked into place.

Kylo fucking _hates being in it_. It’s awful. His arousal is still there, but he can’t get hard past what the durasteel allows, and he literally can’t relieve the pressure in his balls, even if he comes. He normally begs not to be put into it, but begging gets him nowhere, and it’s becoming easier just to consent straight off. 

Once it’s done, Hux stands back. He peers down, and Kylo can’t meet his eyes.

“Do you know why you’re supposed to apologise now?”

 _No, and you won’t tell me_. “I… _Tar—_ ” 

Kylo feels his hair grabbed, and he screeches as he goes up to his knees to follow the tugging. He’s dragged to the chair where Hux has kicked the box of toys. Kylo lets himself be bent over Hux’s lap, his poor, bound dick pressed against the man’s clothed thighs.

“Please, I’m sorry, whatever I did, I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry you’re being punished, not that you did it. You can’t be sorry for something if you don’t know what it is, boy.”

Semantics, but Hux lives in semantics, and Kylo nods. “Please will you tell me?”

“When you want it enough.”

Kylo wants it pretty badly now. For all he… has to admit he gets off on Hux angry and punishing, he gets off even _more_ to the part where the punishment stops, and the praise starts. Even if he hates himself for needing it, and often wonders what’s fucking wrong with him for needing it. But.

But.

Hux pulls out the paddle, then. He does that when it’s too much impact for his hand to bear, and Kylo can’t stop the tremor of fear. It won’t be _too much_ , but that’s not to say it will be _nice_. His hands clutch at Hux’s pants as the first blow lands, hard and sure. It smacks onto his ass-cheek, and stays in place to kiss the sting home. 

If anything, it’s the _shame_ of being paddled, spanked, like a misbehaving little brat. He’s horrified that he craves it so much, but he does. He does, and as the blows fall fast and sure like a summer’s storm, he pushes his face into Hux’s side, burrowing into safety, breathing in the scent of linen and polish. The heat of him, the safety of the other hand: the one on the back of his neck that isn’t harsh, isn’t hard. 

Slap. Slap. Slap.

He’s pathetic. So utterly, utterly pathetic. He needs whacking like a spoilt child, and only the cage pinning his dick down stops it from leaking all over Hux’s thigh. He fights back the sobs until one stinging blow cuts lower on his leg and makes him see white, and he claws and squirms and writhes in despair.

“Ren.”

Kylo can’t answer, can only push harder into him, trying to be swallowed whole. Trying not to exist. Trying to be… saved. Safe. 

“Ren.” 

Softer, and a hand that slides up and down his spine, ignoring his magma-hot ass. He can _feel_ the heat pouring off him in waves. 

“Hurts,” he murmurs, forgetting decorum.

“I know. But you needed to be punished. Do you still not know why?”

Kylo doesn’t. Or – if he does – he’s blocked it out. Sometimes he does that. It’s not deliberate, and it upsets him when he remembers he forgot. 

“You tried to distract me, instead of asking for my attention.”

Oh. Oh. Yeah. He did. He knew, when he did it, that it had been wrong. He’d done it anyway.

“I’m… I’m sorry, _Taralkun_. I am.”

“You’ll do it again, boy. It’s who you are. Isn’t it?”

Kylo can’t stop the sudden flood of tears at the accusation. He knows it’s true. He knows it’s real. He’s always going to be a Bad Boy. He’s always going to decide being an ass is a good thing. He’s always going to feel the urge to buck until he’s broken in. And the knowledge that he’ll never be the good, loyal, obedient boy that Hux wants is awful.

Kylo cries.

Hux’s hands urge him to move, and Kylo does. His face is blotchy and red, his eyes puffy from the tears and sniffles that keep coming, but he lets himself be moved to kneel between Hux’s thighs on the floor.

“It’s alright, little one.”

It isn’t, and Kylo points this out, still sobbing wretchedly. Hands stroke him, and he wants to flinch away, wants to curl up in them, wants to wipe his mind of this weakness and run, run and never look back. Wants to… 

Anger when he looks up, betrayal. Even though Hux has done nothing but show him (again) how wrong he is inside. He resents it, and hates him, and is terrified that he’s this weak in front of him. He’s shown him everything, and it’s both exhilarating and exhausting.

“I hate you,” he says, petulant and frustrated.

“You don’t.”

“I do!”

Finger and thumb catch his chin, hold his defiant head in place. Kylo stares back, stares and demands Hux hate him. Demands he call him pathetic again, or weak, or useless, or childish, or a waste of space. Demands he’s thrown out of the room, and demands he’s—

“Kylo.”

“ **I hate you**.”

“It’s okay. You are safe, remember? You are safe. Even to be angry.”

Kylo tries to surge to his feet, but the hand in his hair threatens to pull huge clumps out, and he smashes back down to his knees.

He could win. A physical fight? No question about it. Blasters? Almost certainly. Force? Not even a competition. It is none of those things – martial prowess – that keep him from winning. It’s two, simple things.

Hux wants to win.

Kylo wants to let him.

Kylo screams again, and the tablets go flying out to the walls in his wound, tense, angry little fit. Small casualties, and then Hux pulls him up by the hair and against his chest. A momentary refusal, and then he pushes his face into his neck and lets the arms around him hold him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he means it this time. 

“I know.” More stroking, and a gentle rocking back and forth. “I know, Kylo. I know.”

Hux pets him lightly until the anger subsides, and Kylo is left shaking in its wake. Things _build_ and need to be _purged_ , sometimes. Anger is one, frustration another. Despair. Fear. Loneliness. They are good for the Dark Side, but he needs to push out the remnants if they cling to his clothes.

After a while, Hux urges him up. Kylo goes where he’s bidden, and climbs onto the bed. He presents automatically: ass up, knees apart, shoulders low. The words praising him are Bacta-stings over open wounds, and he knows they’re helping, but they hurt in the process, too. He’s grateful, but he’s tired, and he’s running out of steam.

On all fours, and there’s a slick, warm finger drawing lines between his cheeks. Up, down. Up, down. He’s pulled apart, and it’s more than his body that gives when he does. A quiet begging, and his _Taralkun_ ’s title drips from his lips like honey from a spoon. Golden, full of life, brilliant and sweet.

In goes the first finger. In goes the second. Kylo tries to tighten around them, but Hux isn’t taking any prisoners. In goes the third, and then there’s four. He rocks lightly back against them, and then there’s a toy at his entrance.

Kylo wants to complain, wanting his lover’s cock deep inside him, but he suspects he might be stuffed in both holes if he plays his cards right. He pushes down on the firm, slick thing and fucks himself open, much to Hux’s vocal delight. 

He tries to imagine what it will look like entering him, how wide he’s spread, how his insides must be moving to accommodate the unusual girth. Kylo doesn’t train with many large things, usually only plugs that are smaller than Hux is, so this is a challenge. He bears down on it, and then there’s a sudden, weird feeling as it flares out and pushes inside. It doesn’t move again, obviously stuck.

Oh _fuck_. Hux does like his weird toys. 

All of a sudden it starts to pulse through alternating patterns, and the pressure against his tight walls, against his rim, is hideously glorious. Kylo lifts his head in gratitude and betrayal, and sees his _Taralkun_ standing by his head.

Without a thought, his face turns and his lips open just a little. Hux holds his head down to the bed, his thrusts slow and deep. He ignores the almost-splutter, just going at his own pace. Over and over, and Kylo savours the taste and feel of it, the closeness of their connection. He tries to smile, and gazes utterly adoringly up at this man.

This man. This perfect, wicked, fucked up man. He’s fucked up in all the ways that fit Kylo’s shattered holes, and then some on top. Hux loves him, even knowing how destroyed he is, underneath it all. Hux takes his shames and his fears and strokes them to ecstasy, and doesn’t recoil in horror. Kylo is so happy, he’s so in love, he’s so… _grateful_ and adoring. Hux could destroy him, but he chooses to repair him, instead. He swallows the sudden flood in his mouth, doing all he can to please him. Taking it all, and not complaining once. (Not now.)

When he’s done, Hux pulls out from his mouth, then slides his thumb across his lips. “Beautiful,” he says. 

“I love you,” Kylo replies, and he knows they both mean the same thing.

“Are you ready to come for me, boy?”

Kylo nods. He is, now. He’s so, so, so ready. But only if Hux is. 

The toy is pulled almost rippingly out, and Kylo _howls_ until it’s replaced by something almost the same size, but infinitely better: Hux’s fist. It pushes all the way into him, and it’s like being punched right in the libido. He’s coming, he’s sure, even if his balls are bound. He’s coming, and the sensation drags out and out and out as the bottom ring is unlocked and the sound and cage slide off.

Then he _is_ coming, and he doesn’t know how his body can keep up the sensation this long. He dumps his load all over the sheets, shocked by how much he manages, and wavers on all fours.

“Better?” Hux asks, tossing the cage to one side, turning Kylo’s face to him with his free hand.

“ _Yes, Taralkun. Thank you._ ”

It’s all he can get out, and then there’s kisses and kisses and kisses, and he has no idea when it turns into cuddling in the damp patch, but at some point it does. Faces in necks and kisses and fingers that trail and legs that twine and breath that bounces between them with wordless satisfaction and bliss. Tired, bone-tired, but victorious. 

Hux takes care of Kylo. Kylo just hopes that everything he has to offer in return will remain good enough. It’s all he has to give.


End file.
